Fistful of Blue
by Catharsiss-BridgetteHayden
Summary: Dan and Tom meet by chance, reprising their roles as Harry and Draco. AU. WARNING: Real Person Slash mixed with Book slash. (I can't get this site's pairing feature to work at the moment).


**Note:** Everything I write is on A O 3. This is another pic fic, written specifically for someone who requested it. The photo features Dan standing on a balcony in his underwear, smoking a cigarette. The fic was written for FanFic_Addict1993, who had such positive things to say about Unbearable-Harry, even though it's a much slower story. Sorry I couldn't work in the wives, and I didn't mean for this to be so long, but here's what came. * hugs*

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**WARNING! Book slash mixed with Real Person Slash! Graphic! I do not know the people in this fic and it is not meant to be a real depiction of them in any way, shape or form. With respect to all, this is purely fictional and intended to be enjoyed ONLY by parties unaffiliated with the names or persons below. I make no money from this. **

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It's okay. It's cool. The coin toss was fair. He let Dan take the last suite with a balcony. He would've offered it to him anyway. The fact that they both got signed on to do the promo at the last minute, during Rio's busiest tourist season, when all the best hotels were taken, was already coincidence enough. Since the gig was for charity, there was no point in either of them going through their agencies to buy someone out of their room. Besides, the place was off the beaten path and Dan had given him that bushy-eyed look over his latte and said, "Let's just slum it. I could use a break."

Tom knew what he meant. It was nice to be appreciated for his work, but it came with the expectation that they were always in a mood to entertain, always "turned on" for someone else's pleasure, or worse, someone's camera. The next four days would be low-key, and a great chance to chill out and not care about having dick to say to anyone. They were both that kind of tired and Dan was that kind of laid back.

The lower hotel room had a view of the pool, but the more Tom glanced out his single window, which were actually sliding glass doors, his eyes kept going up to Dan's balcony. Maybe he'd go up with drinks, his guitar, and just hang out. That was the kind of thought that made it acceptable to keep glancing up, knowing that the guy was probably showering or sleeping, or whatever he did between shooting. They hadn't actually seen each other in a while and had lost touch. It was kinda nice to see him again.

All the baggage that came with growing up behind a camera, with a whole other cast of kids, was doing a pretty good job of staying in the past where it belonged. Surviving that kind of fame was like being an honor student, and filled with all the moments that weren't so honorable, that can never be changed, that deeply affected other people. There was no running away from anything, you just had to keep going. Fans always saw you in those roles. You had to find a reason to stay happy, stay thriving, and stay forward-facing, not backward, and what the hell was he wearing now?

Jesus, the guy likes showing off his body. It's one thing to hire a personal trainer to make sure you look good in your next gig, but after Equus, Dan developed a taste for exhibitionism.

Jesus, those aren't swim trunks, he's in his fucking underwear. 'Nice legs, Potter!'

Tom laughed to himself. His Draco character had lived in his head for so long, he still thought in Draco's voice. It was true, Dan took professionalism to an extreme. He fucking spread for a bloke in that one movie, in front of the whole fucking world. Then he just kept showing the crack of his hairy ass, like he's trying to convince a nation to accept their most unspeakable parts. Well, that was one campaign Tom would let him tackle all by himself. Some of that just wasn't necessary. Crazy bloke.

Kinda reckless, if you ask him. There was no reason for it. Maybe, after playing Harry Potter, a role that demanded everything a little boy had to give, maybe Dan couldn't get his kicks anymore unless it was extreme. Unless it did make people a little uncomfortable. Maybe that's when he felt his most alive. Like the other night.

Nobody planned it. He was just up there, walking around in those damn blue panties, like everyone does shit like that. Tom was trying to focus on a new script, memorizing lines by the window. They both had an early shoot, and there was no point in looking for nightlife distractions. It was an opportunity to buckle down and get some work done. But Dan and those damn chubby legs.

Not the legs exactly, more like the thighs. And not chubby, just not as much definition as those Equus shots. Those fucking hairy, fur-lined yams rubbing together like they were incubating his junk. That's how it looked when he walked or stopped in a certain pose. Tom couldn't help but notice. If he squinted, he could make out the directional pattern those dark hairs were growing in. Probably soft as a puppy's underbelly. Probably just as warm.

Must've slacked off his workouts to transform into his latest appalling role. He found Dan's presence, one floor above him, to be distracting. It was bad enough that he had to come outside in his underwear to smoke, but he did it in the same damn pair for three days in a row.

One evening, at dusk, Tom couldn't take it anymore. He slid open the glass door between his room and Dan's balcony.

He yelled up, "Please tell me, Potter, that you have a suitcase full of those Calvin Klein panties that you like to wear so much. The limited view is starting to mess with my stomach."

Unfazed, Dan was slow to smile. He deliberately made Tom wait while he took a long draw from his cigarette and considered telling him to fuck off. Tom could see the gall in his eyes, half serious, half intrigued. That's what the public didn't realize about him. He had developed the ability to not give a shit better than anyone Tom knew, and those eyes flashed his lack of concern so quick, people dismissed it as 'enigmatic,' then had the nerve to be shocked when he took roles that basically flipped his finger to them.

Then it came. Sparingly, but it came. That 'So you wanna play?' smile. Thin, all too known, crazy-framed, like a wire coat hanger stretched into the shape of a smile, its idiosyncrasies warmed Tom's heart.

"I'm flattered that you noticed," Dan answered him. He added, "Malfoy."

That was all it took. An avalanche of relief rushed between them, and suddenly a sit down chat didn't seem so far out of reach. Dan offered a drink, but Tom said he was only coming up to check the suitcases. An hour after sunset, both sat stuck to the cheap plastic chairs overlooking the pool below. A few, unsupervised teens swam below, while fireworks thundered in the distance. If they sat quietly, they could make them out across the horizon.

Nothing felt awkward. In fact, Dan's company was so relaxed, neither felt they had to sustain conversation. With eyes adjusted to the night, Tom lost the urge to tell Dan to put on some clothes and began enjoying picking apart the imperfections he saw in his once perfect and well-formed co-star.

That's how it started anyway. The six-pack had softened into a pokable paunch, like a normal human being's and not the superhero action figure so many went for. He liked it. It made Dan look more touchable, like he'd actually respond to fingers caressing him rather than deflect them with his six-plated skin shield armor. Sculpted perfection could be attractive, but it ultimately spelled out 'fake' and incapable of accepting reality to Tom. When you needed someone, you needed them to be able to handle imperfections. With the sun down, he appreciated Dan's willingness to show more than people wanted to see.

Between beers, there came a moment of silence between them. Dan's cigarette glowed in the dark. With each inhale, the glow of his embers, induced hypnotic focus in Tom. He rather thought the night was like rain. When rain descends, it can lift smells from the pavement that don't necessarily smell all that good. When dark descends, in certain company, it lifts thoughts that one wouldn't normally entertain. The invitation was right there, glowing in the dark.

Just when Tom decided it was time to go back to his room, Dan propped one leg adjacent to the other and said, "What's your rush?"

Okay, he knew this language. There was no point pretending he didn't. Dan's slouched posture and open legged casualness, as one foot rested abutted on its side, against his lower thigh, demanded Tom look at his crotch. All the details were muted in the dark, yet that heated center drew his attention there.  
The moment was like a mirage. The promise of untold quenching, overflowing indulgence. It wasn't real. It would evaporate any second. This wasn't who either of them had chosen to be, yet here it was. An opportunity to ditch the control for just a few sweet minutes.

Even when they were kids, Dan had the ability to excite him to unchecked eagerness. He didn't know why. It was just something they knew how to get away with, and that felt so good, it was reason enough to play with each other when no one was looking. He'd relegated it to a childhood indulgence, something his adult life was free off. But Dan's half-lidded eyes and slow draw said otherwise. He opened his mouth and Tom watched smoke whisper from it in faint white coils. He knew he must've said something. They must've talked. There had to have been some exchange, he couldn't have leapt for Dan's mouth without warning. But those trivial words weren't worth remembering.

What he remembered was Dan sighing rather impatiently, getting up, and straddling Tom with his full weight. He settled on his legs, planting the trunk of his body as aligned with Tom's pelvis as possible. They were suddenly both fourteen again and using each other to learn to kiss. They'd gone behind a trailer on set, on a dare, and made out as much as any kids know how to make out. They'd had no idea what they were risking back then, or how lucky they'd been that no pictures ever surfaced of such reckless disregard. But there was no giddiness like being allowed to touch Dan any way he wanted to.

His stomach did somersaults and his hard-on went into overdrive at the memory of fishing around through Dan's zipper and making him squirm. At the time, in his immature mind, a part of him bought into the whole Dan as Harry mentality. On one level, this really was the special Boy Who Lived and no matter how fake the story was, people treated Dan with all the love and adoration that Harry had earned for himself as a hero. And Tom shared that love, that spotlight, not just because he played Draco, but because Dan really liked him. Dan was really a super cool guy, who let him do this, and who touched Tom back. The best time, when they were sixteen and sharing a trailer, and one night Dan spontaneously turned off their television to lay back and say that Tom could do whatever he wanted to him, had been the best.

They didn't do anything stronger than kissing and grinding their crotches together with their pants open, but it was better than the time Tom lost his virginity with a girl. Way better.

Now, at twenty-five, he was tasting Dan's lips in earnest. Their heat was too hot to slow down, so he knew he had to burn every sensation he could into his memory if he wanted to hang on to it. Pleasure like this didn't stand still. It streaked through the body like lightning, leaving you dazed. Dan was now a much better kisser, not that Tom had ever complained. They both had enough experience now to know what they really wanted. Aggressive kisses and the wettest slurping would've once been the order of the day. Now, there was surprising gentleness as Dan worked his strong jaw. He was so smooth about it, Tom had to let him take the lead and opened to make sure he could go as deeply as he wanted while still enveloping Dan's tongue in a snug suction.

Below the neck, their bodies were shaking with excitement that leaked from them. But Dan's attention to his kisses reigned it in, and Tom suddenly appreciated all the girls Dan must've practiced on in order to learn that kind of skill. He was tempted to blurt how impressed he was. In movies, Dan never seemed to look like he knew what the hell he was doing. But maybe that was deliberate. Whatever the case, Dan ground himself down, as if he was going to try to walk up Tom's body by contracting the muscles in his thighs and hanging on.

To keep from coming too soon, Tom pushed himself up, forcing Dan to stand. Their kissing barely broke, but surged together again when Dan threw himself into Tom's arms. The other held their pelvises apart by putting a fist length between them that went straight for Dan's hard-on. Tom bunched it through the fabric and gushed as he felt it roll thickly in the folds. The real reward was Dan's moan as it burst from him, distracting him from his kisses. His body went slack against Tom under the workings of the other's hand. Even in the dark, Tom saw spittle bubble at the corner of his lips as his eyes fogged over in abandon of their faculties. He hung on to a fistful of spongy engorgement, kneading it into something harder, rounder, and straining to come out of that fabric.

This was what he'd wanted, and he hadn't even known it. There was only ever going to be one boy-wonder. One, Boy Who Lived, and he had him right in his hands. The world would be appalled if they knew he could make Harry Potter come out of his mind. Nobody was privileged to these "Yes, fuck, yesssss!" coming out of Dan's mouth. Nobody. No matter what he did with his girlfriends, his wife, whatever life held for him, he gave this to Draco. For these few sweet moments, they didn't have to live by the rules of Dan and Tom. They were bitter rivals again, caught alone in some isolated corner of the castle, caught needing what the other wanted, whether they liked each other or not. Curiosity and pleasure were so real, spilling from them so helplessly, that their own arousal felt like it could've been against their wills.

When it wasn't enough to have anything separating his skin from Dan's, his fingers pushed their way under elastic and found the satin, swollen organ they were seeking. Dan's body danced from the touch as Tom took over kissing and stroked him to his fullest length. Just as Dan tensed, like a coil wounding down on itself, getting ready to spring, Tom went for his testicles. His own sense of adventure surprised him. He could remember positioning his cock to stroke there as Dan lay beneath him. If done with the sac sliding against the underside of his cock, the sensation brought them both to orgasm. It made him wish they were nearer to a bed, but he knew things were burning too hot to expect to get that far.

It reminded him that all this feeling, all this gluttonous delight, was about to end. He let his hands go crazy, plunging more deeply into the shadowy recesses of Dan's hairy ass than he ever had before. A bit squeemish, he'd never had the courage to traverse that dark terrain, but right now he wanted as much of it as he could get.

This flood of passion was such a wild card between them, neither knew when or if it would happen again. Now that he wasn't a child anymore, he knew that only good could come from exploring Dan's body that way. So he let his hands go where they'd never gone before. He wiggled his fingers deeper between the narrow passage of Dan's thighs and relished the damp, puckered walls grazing him. Dan jerked to get away from his hand. They wrestled in that way until he practically had to hold the other up to keep him from sinking in a pool of wincing rapture.

When Dan's strong thigh muscles locked Tom from the front, Tom pulled out his hands and went behind the back, attacking those cheeks in a way he had not had the gumption as a teen. He slid over the mounds of Dan's ass, pushing the underwear band down and spread him like he meant it. Dan's gasp told him how unexpected it was, told him how much he liked it, and told him that the night air, touching him in exactly that hidden spot, was a total shock. When they both registered the thrill of such a shock, they realized this was why they did it.

Between two people who had grown up to see and experience so much, so soon, with all the expectations surrounding them, shock value was a highly prized commodity. Who else could they get this from, but each other. It brought something undefinable to the experience. Tom's fingers dove before Dan could keep him out. He didn't get inside, but he got far enough that Dan couldn't stand and keep him out at the same time. It wasn't as much a denial as it was an overload of sensation. Dan's body bent backwards as Tom pushed against his sphincter muscles the way he would've pushed across the fabric concealing a girlfriend's clitoris. Dan gave him the same result. Tom pulled him up against the railing of the balcony and trapped him, with one hand exercising the ring of muscles he couldn't get past, and the other making sure Dan's erection lay crushed against his thigh so that it had enough friction to pinch and slide as his digging fingers forced Dan to run from them has he thrust into Tom's thigh.

As if it were a competition, and Dan didn't like losing, he went after Tom's zipper. Tom was tempted to push his hands away, but knew he couldn't say no when Dan's hand took him and pulled him out. He was afraid of this, but he couldn't stop it. Dan pulling on him meant that it was all going to end too soon and he just wanted to keep Dan whimpering and riding his thigh. For some reason, this kind of frustrating friction, was way more satisfying than going for the kill. The pleasure lasted longer and he didn't want it to end. But Dan's grip said that he was determined to end it while it was at its peak.

Through his orgasm, Tom kept his eyes open because he didn't want to miss Dan's. There was nothing like the color blistering those beautiful, open lips. Or the flush traveling up Dan's chest, into his neck and cheeks. He couldn't miss the epileptic helplessness that bared the other's soul when Dan's entire body locked on the blade of his pleasure and sent him trembling against Tom. There was nothing like Dan's orgasms to make Tom realize how violent all that bliss really was. And Dan bore it so well, unable to open his eyes until the worst of the aftershocks were gone.

That was two days ago. Tom sat by the sliding doors, bored with his script and done with breakfast. It was 9:34 AM. In exactly twenty-six minutes, Dan would come out for his morning smoke. He'd still have sleep in his eyes, bed hair, and dreams clouding his vision. He wouldn't be awake. But he'd be wearing those damn blue shorts and dragging on his cigarette like it gave off oxygen, and that's all Tom wanted to see before catching his flight.

Somewhere between the other night and now, he's learned that the underwear is part of a contract. Dan doesn't have a suitcase full of them, but he does have a FedEx box full, delivered by his agency, in response to letting himself be filmed in a pair for four seconds, giving Calvin Klein all the advertising advantage the conglomerate desired. Now he'd be getting boxes full of them for the rest of his life, and he disposed of them the way people disposed of tissue paper. In fact, Draco had not been able to leave without an armful of plastic bundled sleeves of them.

Nice, Potter. Generous to a fault.

They didn't talk about it. They didn't have to. It was understood. Harry would always have something Draco wanted. And Draco couldn't leave him alone until he gave it to him.

A/N: If readers want me to see their comments, they will have to PM me. (Happily writing more!)


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